


As Constant as the Stars

by TheMenacingDuck



Category: Fergaldi, Real Person Fiction
Genre: Hotel Sex, M/M, Present Day AU, Surrealism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-10
Updated: 2015-08-10
Packaged: 2018-04-13 23:18:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4541259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMenacingDuck/pseuds/TheMenacingDuck
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This story is true. Of course there are many lies therein and most of it did not happen, but it could all be true.</p>
            </blockquote>





	As Constant as the Stars

Craig Ferguson missed the comedy scene in Edinburgh. It had been a long time since he had the time or the will to submerse himself in the chaos that was the Edinburgh Arts Festival, but now that he was here, jet-lagged and a little fuzzy from the NyQuil he had taken on the flight over, he was finally remembering what all the fuss was about. Only this time there would be no sleeping in disused photo-booths and munching on cheeseburgers at 1am. He didn't even feel the pressure to perform. Here as a host, there would be no need for him to come up with new material every night. All he had to do was sit back, and watch the younger acts suffer the same daggers he had, all those years ago. ”What doesn't kill ya." He mused to himself before stepping out on stage to introduce the first act. The tech running the lighting was slow to react, not that Craig minded seeing the happy, smiling, faces of a sloshed audience as he made the introductions. He was glad even. A wide smile and unexplainable hair caught his vision just as the lights dimmed, a face he would never forget, and one he hadn't appreciated properly in many years.

Peter Fucking Capaldi. What the hell was he doing here? Craig smiled to himself, the chances of he and his old friend being in the same country at the same time were slim these days, let alone the same concert hall. He hoped that Peter would stick around, it felt like forever since they had last had a decent conversation.

The hours rolled by, the acts got increasingly worse, or better depending on your level of intoxication, some things never change. Once or twice Craig was able to catch and return a wink or a smile offered by Peter. He even went as far as to close the evening's entertainment with the old 'call me' routine, throwing another wink in Peter's direction, hoping against hope that his friend would make the connection.

Craig had no sooner walked off stage when he felt the vibration of a phone call in his pocket, "Well who'd have thought!" he exclaimed, not even letting Peter speak, "All of time and space and you choose fucking Edinburgh!"

He heard Peter's chuckle on the other end of the line, listened as he explained he was here with a few old art school buddies, "I had no idea you'd been called in for this!"

"Nor did I until a few days ago, you know me, always the backup man, filling in." He waved silent goodbyes to the crew and the few comedians still lingering, as he made his way through back stage and out into the crisp Edinburgh air.

Peter's laugh was warm and sincere, Craig heard him bid farewell to his artsy friends before, "I know you're better than that. Say, wanna catch up for a not-drink, for old times sake?"

And that was how Craig found himself seated at a bar he knew all too well, with a friend he knew even better, discussing the effects of Guinness and acid, or rather the lack of such things, he laughed heartily, “I couldn’t handle acid now. I can’t even handle Nyquil.” He leans over the table, “Do you have NyQuil, or is Britain stuck in the Dark Ages? Let me tell you, it is something else. I took Nyquil, and now I’m talking to Peter Capaldi,” He stage whispers to Peter, “And he’s THE DOCTOR!? I know!” He leaned back, to watch the fruits of his labor there.

Peter snorted a mouthful of lime and soda, covering his mouth as it burnt the back of his nose and throat, the carbonated liquid spraying in front of him. "You never once lost your touch, Craig!" He laughs, "Nyquil, it'll do that to you if you're not careful."

“It’ll make your best mate the Doctor, too fucking right!” His laughter subsiding, he clasps Peter’s shoulder, “But seriously, when I saw that announcement live, I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.”

"I'm still doing both to be honest. All those years I spent obsessing over it, who'd have thought that one day I would actually become Doctor Who? I often wonder if this is all a dream, and I'm yet to wake."

“Well that depends, have you taken NyQuil, because if you have, it might just be a dream.” He leans back and shrugs. “For what it’s worth, the season 8 I saw in my dream state was fucking great!”

"Can we do that? Share a dream state?" He grins and leans towards Craig, whispering, "If that’s the case then I need you to get me some more of this NyQuil, maybe some Dream Crabs.” He pulled back with a wink, "It's not all me though, 10 years as a late night host. You've done alright mate!"

Craig shrugged, “Well, I think we managed 5, maybe 6 regular viewers! But we had a good time. I just felt it was time to move on, ya know? I’m actually hosting a game show right now, but the earlier time slot keeps me on my toes. I can’t just swear my way through material that isn’t fucking funny.”

"You do alright, you always have. You don't need funny material to sound funny, that's just you." He grins, "You've come a long way since Bing."

It’s Craig’s turn to nearly spit take. “Not as far as you might think. I am still speaking zhe German on zhe show.”

"One ding or two?" Peter chuckles.

Craig’s really taken aback at that. “No, you didn’t watch the show, someone just told you. And I refuse to believe you actually discovered the internet.”

"Of course I watched the show. Do you think I have it in me to work the Internet? Jenna is great at helping me work this hopeless thing," he dangles his phone as if it is some repulsive alien tech, "But I still don't understand the internet. My best friend hosting a talk show, that I do understand, and yes, I know how to switch on a TV. I watched you whenever I could."

Craig looks away and back to meet Peter’s steady gaze. Damn, if he could always do that, put him on the back foot just by being nice and supportive. “Well, thanks, Peter. It’s you I owe for getting me into comedy to begin with, or for getting me to this moment, for that matter.”

Peter smiles, an honest, warm smile that reaches his eyes, "Nah, you always had it in you, Craig. You don't owe me anything."

Craig’s gaze lingers on Peter maybe a little longer than it has to, as he replies, “Yeah well, it’s a shame my run on the show ended when it did. It woulda been a lotta fun to have you back.”

Peter's eyes don't leave Craig's, he can feel the warmth from Craig's stare as if it were an actual embrace, "You don't need a talk show to invite me over, you know that, Craig." He intended it as a joke, a funny pass between old friends, but the intensity of Craig's stare, and the low resonance of his own voice meant it was anything but.

Craig scooted his chair forward and cleared his throat. “Well the night’s still young. They’ve got me set up at this really posh place not far from here. I know it’s not exactly an ant-infested flat in Glasgow, but it’ll do.” Christ, why did he feel so awkward suddenly? It’s not like they didn’t always do this back in the day. Inviting Peter over to his, really what was the big deal about that?

Peter subconsciously leaned in, eyes lowering to Craig's lips, his breath becoming short. Why was it always so hard to control his impulses around Craig? "It's the NyQuil, the ants will be there in the morning." He said, by way of an acceptance, and to stop himself from kissing Craig right there.

Craig felt himself leaning forward just a little too far. Jesus, they’re in public, and he’s undoubtedly misreading this. He looks to the left as an old bearded guy sitting at the bar, catches the corner of his eye, raising his pint in salute. Craig shook his head at the thought and got up. With his smile firmly back on, the glint in his eye returning, he takes Peter’s question like a dare. “Well? Whatareya waitin’ for?”

Peter gets up, fighting the urge to put his arm around Craig, damn it had been too long. Instead he puts his hands in his pockets, "Take me to your ants," he declared in a mock sombre tone. It really has been too long.

Craig shrugs like it’s no big thing, and if he’s honest, maybe it isn’t. It’s been a long time, and their last encounter didn’t exactly end on a positive note. His fault of course, you can only take advantage of someone for so long, fearing demons that aren’t there, before the demons become all too real. And really, they’ve spent so much time together as friends, that’s all this is. No need to get his willy in a twist, Peter’s just being the nice guy he always was. The nice guy, with the nicer ass. Craig forced his thoughts onto the short trip to the hotel.

Peter spends the walk to the hotel contemplating their last night like this. It's not a memory he likes to relive, but he likes to think that he and Craig have moved past it, at least enough to enjoy the evening as two close friends. He catches sight of Craig out of the corner of his eye, also appearing to be in deep contemplation. Is it still too soon to assume they could have what they had before, not-so-young but certainly just as carefree? He’s not going to push Craig again, not tonight, not ever.

* * *

 

It wasn’t long before they reached the hotel, and were standing in the lift, admiring the marquee advertising the latest lounge lizard in all it's tilted, off center glory. So much for posh hotels. He watches Peter put it to rights, but the doors slide open with a ding before he can make out the singer’s name. From the corner of his eye it looked like Leon something. Shrugging inwardly, he clears his head and leads Peter to his posh suite, the kind of room they used to brag about getting when the Dreamboys were certain to make it big.

Peter followed Craig into the room, "Wow mate, you really made it! This is the stuff of our fantasies." He pokes at the decorative ball type things on the hall table before taking in the rest of the expansive room, awash with luxurious decor, expensive looking furniture, and he notices thankfully, free of ants.

“Sorry about the lack of wildlife, but the night’s still young,” Craig quips with a wink as he raids the minibar. “These prices are highway robbery!” He laughs and tosses Peter a snack, “Here, have a fucking Curly Wurly, it costs enough to be a small ladder, even if it isn’t.” Grabbing some drinks, he threw himself easily onto the comfy couch. A real couch, not those cardboard things you usually find.

Peter laughs, "Only if it comes with a fucking Fanta!" He settles into the couch next to Craig, propping his feet on the coffee table, noticing a small hole appearing at the end of one of his socks, damn toenails. "So you watched the ole Fucker Tucker then?"

“Well I had to, for research. It’s hard work being a talk show host.” He grins, but then leans forward, his pupils large with sincerity. “Of course I watched your show, Pete. You were fantastic, are fantastic.”

Peter felt his breath catch as Craig leaned in, god damn he hoped he was reading these signals right, "Oh I bet it is, hard-" He stops himself as Craig becomes sincere, "I learned from the best." His eyes meet Craig’s, losing himself in the moment a bit.

Craig swallows hard, before his imagination totally runs away with him, he’s gotta clear the air. Peter forgave him all those years ago, seemingly without a second thought. Craig had thought to put it behind him, but them sitting there now, brought it all flooding back. It’s not like they saw each other often, he may not get many more chances to make this right. He resolved to try. “Peter, I’m sorry, about the way things went all those years ago. I was afraid of losing my friend, so much so, that I made damn sure I finished the job. I know you forgave me, and you’ve read the book and all that, but I’ve got to say it. I’m really sorry, mate. Truly.” He chokes up a bit at the truly. “I took advantage of you, and I acted like a right arse. And I only did it because you were hanging out with those hollywood types, trying to drag me kicking and screaming into the darkness of success. You only wanted what was best for me, and I just threw it away, and you in the process.”

Tears well in Peter's eyes, as he watches the hurt flash across Craig's face. How young and stupid they both were back then, his hand comes to cup Craig's cheek, unbidden, "You're sorry? I'm the one that should be sorry. I was so caught up in trying to push you in what I thought was the right direction, I forgot that as your friend, I should have been there for you regardless of what direction you took." His other hand reaches for Craig, their faces only inches apart. "You needed me and I wasn't there. I should be the one that’s sorry, and by god I am." Peter's voice breaks, he wants nothing more than to kiss Craig, but he won't. He will not push him. Not again.

“But Peter, I completely took advantage of your kindness. You had every right to react as you did. Every right. And if memory serves, I wasn’t exactly unwilling ya know.” Craig’s hand moves to clasp itself over Peter’s, like it’s the most natural thing in the world, and so it is.

Peter allowed himself a smile, "It was good wasn't it, what we had?” He can't help the desire that floods his voice, he lets his eyes flicker to Craig's lips, then back to his eyes again, "...Have." He breathes.

Craig’s eyes dance from Peter’s, to his mouth, and back again. It’s been a long time, and he could always be reading this wrong, but, he leans over and kisses Peter on the cheek, lingering a little too long to be, strictly speaking, friendly.

Peter lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding, as Craig's lips touch his cheek. Tilting his head, he accepts the embrace. Fuck, he'd missed this. He felt Craig draw back slightly and then, as if nothing had changed, his lips were seeking Craig, his hands on either side of Craig's face were working their way into hair, his heart began to pound, and he was all of a sudden not nearly close enough to the man beside him on the couch.

“Have,” Craig agreed, his lips already parting against Peter’s. It didn’t take long for him to remember what an amazing fucking kisser he was either. He wanted, no needed him, not even realizing just how much, until this moment. He couldn’t say who pulled whom closer. All he knew, was that he needed to be closer still. His hands groped for Peter, pressing him deeper into the kiss, their lips, their tongues, their mouths falling into a perfect symmetry of friction and pleasure.

He knew he had missed this. Had known for years how much he missed this. But Peter had forgotten just how perfect moments like this were. Some part of him had believed his fantasies had stretched the truth somewhat, that there was no way the reality had ever been this good, oh how wrong that assumption was. He moaned softly as his tongue explored Craig, running across his lips, his teeth, enjoying Craig's shiver as he traced slow patterns over the roof of his mouth.

Craig had always found Peter to be the physical embodiment of beauty in the male form, and time, he was finding, had been kind to that form, at least as far as he was concerned. He could feel Peter tremble and writhe under his hands, in movements as charged and as fluid as they always were. It was a kiss he was reluctant to end, as he was eager to get to know this beautiful body again. His lips moved from Peter’s mouth, down to his jaw, working their way to his ear. “Does this still drive you wild?” He whispered, his tongue flicking teasingly against Peter’s ear.

"Oh you fucking know it." He growled, grabbing at Craig's hair probably a little too roughly as he felt shock waves shoot from his ear to his cock. Fighting the urge to grind against him just yet, Peter used his free hand to loosen Craig's tie, the practised movements freeing the silk in seconds. Wasting no time unbuttoning his shirt, he ran his hand over the familiar, yet unfamiliar plain of tight muscle and wiry hair.

With Peter’s hands pulling and tugging at him, Craig resists the urge to too quickly relinquish all control to him. No, he needs him too much. Tugging his blazer roughly down Peter’s arms in response, he sets about unbuttoning that shirt, having a few choice words about the amount of buttons and how he must button the top one too.

Peter is quick to use Craig's distraction and frustration to his advantage, tugging all material free of his chest and nipping at his collar bone. His hands leave a trail of goosebumps, as he lightly scratches at the skin of his chest and belly.

Craig groans, grinding against Peter’s thigh without even being aware of what he’s doing. At least the shirt came untucked quickly. Peter never could keep a shirt tucked in. He had a body that sought to repel clothing. Laughing to himself, he got to know that body anew, his mouth pressed to Peter’s chest, “Still as gorgeous as he ever was.”

"Mm, like you can talk." Peter's hands continue their exploration, relearning the contours of Craig's arms and shoulders, the newly formed muscle in his back, enjoying the way Craig still shivered when he used his nails, biting back his own moans as Craig's lips sought out the sensitive areas of his chest. It wasn't enough, he needed more, guiding Craig up his body, locking his lips in a hard kiss he pressed him into the couch, his fingers scratching along the line of his pants before unhooking his belt from its buckle and flicking his trousers open in one swift movement, smiling as Craig whimpered in response.

“You bastard, you beat me to it,” came Craig’s reply, more of a soft bleat than strong command. Already harder than he’d been in a while, he pinched his eyes shut, and dug his fingers roughly into Peter’s scalp. “Yeah, that’s what you want, taste it then,” he dared.

Peter chuckled, his breath ghosting over Craig's skin as he quickly drew him from his trousers, darting his tongue over the tip briefly before looking up to watch Craig’s reaction.

Craig’s back dug into the cushions of the couch, his frame at once tensing and relaxing, shivering at Peter’s slightest touch. There were a million things he wanted to say, but in this moment, with those eyes looking up at him, he just needed to feel that mouth on his cock. He met Peter’s gaze with eyes ablaze with desire, silently begging for more.

Moaning softly at the emotion on Craig's face, the way his body still responded to him after all these years, the way his taste exploded along his tongue as he closed his lips around Craig, swirling his tongue over the tip once more, before drawing him more fully into his mouth.

Craig moaned in a soft, yet barely controlled voice, a voice trembling with need and desire. The need in him was for more, but it felt so fucking good, the physical warmth and perfection of Peter’s mouth, the way his tongue massaged him, the feeling of being absolutely devoured. What was even better was letting him take control, even if this pure bliss meant he had to stop it soon.

Sucking at him with slow, gentle movements, Peter worked one hand along Craig's shaft, the other disappearing beneath his trousers to cup and massage his balls, humming his approval, as Craig's hands twisted in his hair.

Craig hissed, barely able to stop himself from bucking wildly into Peter’s mouth. Clasping his face gently but firmly, he held Peter still while he thrust gently, a little bit deeper each time, going as deep as he dared. The glint in his eye returned at the sight of just how deep that was, before he relinquished control once again with a sigh.

Peter moaned deep and low in his throat, granting Craig as much access as he could muster, sucking and pulling him just a little deeper as Craig's hands left his face. Raising up only to draw breath and glance upon Craig's body, sprawled on the couch before him, hot, sweaty, and completely his.

Craig hauled him up with a growl. His turn, he pinned Peter up against the couch, kissing him hard and rough, his lips crushing and bruising Peter’s under his own, his tongue filling his mouth with every hard thrust, his hands grabbing at the fabric around Peter’s cock roughly. Breaking the kiss, his eyes danced dangerously while a wicked grin played around his lips. He slid off the couch, kneeling between his legs, as if in worship of this still-perfect male form.

Stunned but not entirely surprised by Craig's moves, he was breathing hard by the time Craig had positioned himself between his legs. Peter arched an eyebrow, "Still think you can outdo me?" He challenged, brushing the side of Craig's face with the back of his hand.

Leaning into Peter’s hand and closing his eyes, relishing the touch just for a moment, his face broke into a dangerous smile. “I don’t think mate, I fucking know.” He had Peter’s belt completely off, and in his hand in one swift movement, letting it crack with a deft flick of the wrist, before letting it fall to the floor. He could rip off those trousers, but where was the fun in that? No, Peter needed to be teased. Not breaking eye contact, Craig’s mouth parted over Peter’s trousers, missing the target by parts of a millimeter. Smiling wickedly, he moved his head to the side, missing again by parts of a millimeter. Looking up, he lowered his head back down to nuzzle at Peter’s arousal. Moaning luxuriously as he mouthed at the shaft through the trousers.

"Oh fuck." It was low, desperate, and full of a need Peter had not felt in a long, long time. Further words failed him as he felt Craig’s mouth at him, through the material of his trousers, his hands clenching at his sides, determined not to show how little control he felt he had right now. As was their usual tack, it was never about who held the upper hand, who topped the other, no it was never about that. It was a rhythm Peter was grateful they still possessed, the gentle push and pull of power, the pleasure of being completely dominated one moment, and then relishing that control the next. He had complete trust in Craig. If anyone knew how to leave him with a night he would never forget, it was the man kneeling between his legs, doing a marvellous job of not quite offering enough friction.

Nipping at the fabric covering the zipper, Craig decided poor Peter had endured enough teasing, for now. But really it was Craig who could be the selfish one. Seeing, tasting Peter coming undone was the stuff of fantasies. Always so in control, always the one with the perfect quip, the perfect look, forever the older, mature, aloof one. It was a real pleasure, and tremendous turn-on to see him melt, see him completely lose it. He slowly unzipped Peter’s trousers and freed him from his boxers, laughing softly at how beyond ready he was. With a sigh, Craig darted his tongue at the tip, tasting the proof of that extreme arousal with a low moan of his own.

Peter groaned in response, unable to sit idle any longer, his hips thrust towards Craig's mouth as he felt his tongue, "Go on then," he gasped as Craig's tongue made another pass, "Outdo me." It wasn't a challenge, he hadn't the reserve to challenge. It was a plea. Peter arched his hips again, desperate to feel more of Craig's perfect mouth.

With a gentle, teasing chuckle, Craig pressed his face into Peter’s groin, starting from the base, his mouth encircling the shaft from the side, while his tongue lapped in a languid pattern, until his mouth was covering the tip, taking as much of Peter’s cock as he could in one swift, firm move of his lips.

Peter's hands raked through Craig's hair, urging him on with moans and sighs, a loud grunt his response, as Craig finally took him into his mouth. "Oh that's it, feel how it fills your mouth, Craig. You're so perfect." He groaned again, thrusting gently into Craig.

Craig could reply with words of his own, but opted to let his mouth do the talking in ways that would drive Peter wild. He moaned as he let Peter’s cock do exactly that, fill his mouth completely, feeling the tip tickle the back of his throat as he swallowed. his mouth traveled back to the tip, swirling his tongue around it, before repeating the action in a slow but insistent pace.

Peter had every intention of pulling Craig to him, coving his mouth with his own, and relishing in the taste of their combined arousal. All thought, any plans he may have had for the evening disappear, as he feels Craig draw him deep into his mouth, shuddering as the muscles of this throat tighten around his cock, before feeling his tongue lightly trace the head. He moans half formed words, as he feels Craig repeat the action, sweat breaking out across his forehead, and over his chest and stomach. "Craig," he shudders out, "Mate, if you don't, ohhh, if you don't stop soon..." The sentence is lost to a deep growl, Peter fast losing the ability to hold himself together.

Releasing him with a soft, audible pop, Craig kissed a path from Peter’s stomach up to his neck, licking and sucking at the salty, damp skin that was proof against what he could still do to him. “Can’t let that happen, not just yet. I need more from you before this night is out,” he commanded hotly into Peter’s ear.

Peter shivered, and ground himself against Craig, "You only had to ask." His hands running down Craig's back, pushing at his trousers to finally remove them, and smooth his hands across the bare skin of his ass.

“I’ve wanted this for so long,” Craig sucked hard at Peter’s neck, “I never thought,” his hands clawed at Peter, pulling him closer still, his mouth moving to his shoulder, “Never dared hope,” His leg swung over Peter’s lap, in an effort to hitch around his hip. Unable to finish his sentence, Craig could only grasp for him in complete desperation. He needed to be completely filled and possessed, even if a tiny voice in his head was more than a little terrified at the prospect. It just made it that much sweeter.

Peter wrapped his arms around Craig, drawing him close and claiming his mouth, kissing him hard and deep, grinding against him and whispering how much he missed this. Tracing Craig's lips, his fingers begging for entrance, he watched Craig's eyelids flicker shut as he took Peter’s fingers, swirling his tongue over them, readying them for the inevitable.

It wasn’t those magic fingers that made him nervous, no, he was no stranger to the odd finger or two. It was what came next, what it represented. It’d been a long time, not since that night in fact. Never one to to shy away from attraction, it wasn’t a purposeful choice, that going this far with a man hadn’t seemed right since that last time. Since that time with the one he trusted the most, the one that was holding him now. It was that trust he focused on, the trust, and the anticipation.

Peter kept his eyes locked on Craig’s, as his fingers slipped between his ass cheeks, slowly and gently working him open. The soft moans that rewarded his efforts were enough to bring old memories flooding back, the closeness, the intimacy, the complete trust between two people. Letting his fingers find the old, yet familiar rhythm, he used his free hand to pull Craig into a kiss, warm and soft, and full of promises he intended to keep.

Craig relaxed against the familiar, and yet very new tension, accepting his fingers with low, quiet moans. Even his rose-colored memories hadn’t been kind enough to those amazing hands, and what they were doing to him now. Letting himself melt into the warm, loving kiss of one he trusted so much, he wrapped his arms around Peter. The desert of his life once again awash with an oasis of warmth and love. He vowed that this time he would not let it slip away so easily.

Peter felt Craig submit to his kiss, the embrace becoming so much more than the twisting of limbs, and the sighs and moans of shared pleasure. He needed more, breaking the kiss he pulled Craig close to him, "I need you," he keened, "Please, love, let me take you."

His lips trembling, only inches away from Peters, he nodded, “I’m drowning in pure air. The only thing that’s gonna save me now, is you. I need to feel you, all of you.”

Peter moved his free hand to cup Craig's cheek, their embrace awash with love and desire, and a need that was becoming almost too much to bear. "You're so tight, you sure you can take me?" With nothing more than saliva on his fingers, Peter could feel Craig drying around him. There was no denying their need, or the trust they had for each other, but he was not game to leave that kind of an impression with Craig. Pleasure just this side of pain, not the other way around.

Craig smiles a crooked smile at Peter’s concern. He needn’t be worried about that, he’s a regular Boyscout, always prepared. Reaching for the open suitcase on his side of the arm of couch, he chuckles at Peter. “I’m not sure, but I think this stuff right here works. It’s been a while since I used it there, but pretty sure it works.” With that, he tosses the lube into Peter’s startled, free hand.

Peter let his mouth hang open slightly, as he caught the tube Craig had flung at him. Eyebrows raising, and a smile creeping across his lips, "You travel with this stuff now?" He pulls from Craig, pushing his pants to the floor, kicking them off, as he removed his shirt impatiently, "Or just when you know I'm in town?" He chuckles before drawing Craig to him, kissing and sucking at his neck.

Once the fog caused by Peter’s mouth on his neck cleared, Craig’s soft sighs broke into a gradual, gentle laugh. “Oh don’t you wish? What if I’m just a sensitive man? I prefer it slick and gentle nowadays.” He punctuates that by demonstrating with his tongue, on Peter’s neck this time, just what he means.

Peter shudders, the work of Craig's tongue renewed the fire in his veins, intensifying the throbbing of his cock. He pulls back, readying himself with his own hand, "I can give you slick," his eyes burn into Craig, "But you know I can't promise gentle."

Craig eyes meet Peter’s, reflecting the heat in that gaze with a fire of his own, his lips beginning to melt into Peter’s once again, he implored in a firm whisper, “And I wouldn’t want you to.”

A sly grin crosses Peter's lips, as he sits himself on the couch, guiding Craig into his lap, "Between safety and adventure..." He holds himself at Craig's entrance, waiting for the final okay, his eyes searching Craig's for any hint of resistance.

The residual nerves melt from Craig’s body at hearing his own words spoken in a loving challenge, his smile genuine, as he replied, “I choose adventure.” Reaching behind himself to guide Peter in, his voice intoned a low moan as his body fought to adjust and relax. He grabbed Peter’s hand, gripping his own cock with it, as he hissed “Fuck me.” Whether a command or an epitaph, was up to Peter to decide.

Peter heard his own voice merge with Craig's, a deep groan escaping his lips, as he felt the tight warmth of Craig surround him. One hand massaged at his thigh, feeling the muscles tense and release below the skin, the other, guided by Craig, wrapped around his cock providing gentle pressure, just enough to drive him insane.

Craig had always been bigger in stature than Peter, but Peter had those secret weapons, those thighs. It was no different now, Craig marveled at that perfectly thin frame, and the strength it possessed. Leaving Peter’s hand where it was, his hands wandered up to Peter’s wiry shoulders, bracing against him in an effort to steady himself. It was such a fucking cliche, but never more true than with Peter, “God, you’re so fucking big,” he panted, allowing himself to finally take all of him in with a hiss and a groan. It was like being impaled, but somehow in a way he wanted to be. He leaned over and grabbed Peter in a hard, sloppy, perfect kiss, his mouth freezing in place with an inward gasp, as he dared to raise and lower himself back down. Only now did he truly realize how much he had yearned for this moment. He’d yearned for it for years, just learning to live with the ever-present empty spot left in his heart, left there for this moment he never thought he’d ever get to live.

Peter struggled to maintain control as he felt Craig begin to move above him, his lips, tongue, and teeth duelled against Craig, fighting for something long forgotten in the pleasure that was fast consuming them. He sighed as he felt Craig move again, gripping his cock tighter, and thrusting upwards in response, grunting endearments of perfection against his mouth.

Craig opened his mouth to make a bad joke about riding a bike, but Peter’s increasing intensity absolutely took his breath away. No more bad jokes, this wasn’t the time for lame material. This was the time to carve every molecule, every sensation, deep into his memory. But he couldn’t even do that. All he could do was live in this moment, meeting Peter’s upward thrust with his downward grind, with a pace that found itself inevitably speeding up, as his body pushed past the pain and found within it that hidden, exquisite pleasure.

Peter could feel the pressure building, his nerves on fire, his body fast reaching that point of no return. He could feel Craig's change of pace too, renewed vigour in his movements, sweat beading on his forehead. Sensing his readiness, Peter abandoned his cock, smiling inwardly at Craig's whimper, as he moved both hands to his hips, holding fast and twisting their bodies, laying Craig on the couch and pushing himself still deeper.

Craig was getting almost comfortable in the steady rhythm of that huge cock, just starting to rub that perfect spot in a way he only thought he remembered was possible, until now. He’d forgotten rule one with Peter, never think you can get comfortable, never think you can predict what will happen next. The memory of just what this meant came flooding back, as he felt Peter’s hand leave him, felt those thighs thrust up and stay there, his body bending forward, forcing Craig to move. This is what it meant to give Peter control, and he relinquished it with a needy moan, shifting himself under Peter, wrapping his legs tightly around him, grabbing his neck to once again feel that mouth working over his.

Peter crushed his mouth against Craig's, muffling a moan, unsure if it came from himself or the man willingly submitting below him. He buried himself as completely as he could, hands still at Craig's hips, tilting them just so, before pulling back and driving into him with force, grunting as the sensation sparked though his body.

Craig found himself begging, pleading, for what he didn’t know. All that existed in the world was the man he admired above all others, threatening to pound him into oblivion, and that’s exactly what he needed. How long it had been, how they’d only run into each other by pure chance, none of that mattered. All that mattered in the now, was to be thoroughly and completely fucked by the man who knew how to do him right.

Peter's mouth was insistent against Craig's, his thrusts losing rhythm and gaining intensity, as Craig's pleading moans and sighs penetrated the air between kisses. He was close, Craig's body so tight, so perfect beneath him, driving him forward. "You make me so fucking hot." He breathed against Craig's mouth, one hand leaving his hips to grip his cock once more, squeezing and tugging at him to prove his point.

It had been too long, or not long enough, depending on perspective of the what and when. Their bond, their respect, their trust, were made whole again. Those feelings bubbled and overflowed, draining and leaving room for the pure lust left in its place. Craig’s eyes burned so bright they turned to stone, as he challenged Peter, in fact begged him, “I need you to fuck me. Fucking destroy me.”

Peter let out a strangled moan at the sound of Craig's voice, so raw it was with passion. His words drove straight to his heart, they spoke volumes of the relationship they once shared, showed him that they may just be able to resurrect what they had. He drew back and pounded into Craig, wild, deep thrusts that had no rhythm, only need, driving them both closer to the pure ecstasy of release.

With each thrust, with every stroke, Craig was taken to new heights of pleasure, valleys of pain. It was the one that made the other feel that much more intense. This is what he needed, and who he needed it from. “That’s it, I used to love it when you fucked me like this, when you lost control. Always so smooth, always so in control. Who’s in control now, motherfucker? If I can make you lose it, then who’s really in control?” Craig grinned slyly, in between thrusts.

A growl escaped Peter before he managed a rough reply, "You. Damn it. Always you." He pounded into Craig, "I need you to come," he begged, "Please. Come for me. I know how much you fucking want to.” His hold on Craig tightened, working his length hard and fast, his hand matching the strength of his cock.

Craig’s smile at that reply quickly faded, as Peter met and surpassed his challenge. He was being completely ripped apart, and it was draining all the power he had left to care. For all that, he did’t want it to end, but Peter was really the one in control now, giving him exactly what he wanted. “Always me. You, always fucking me...yeah..” His voice trailed off as the pent-up fire within him demanded a release, a release he was reluctant to give into.

Peter could feel the build up of tension in Craig's body, the slight tightening of his ass, the throbbing of Craig's cock in his hand, it would be enough to push him over the edge if he wasn't careful. He moaned softly, "Craig!" Determined not to be the one to let go first.

“That’s right, fucking beg for it. Tell me how much you want it.” This night was the stuff of fantasies Craig had never dared think would come true. Fantasies long since nearly forgotten, pushed back to the edge of memory, past mistakes too painful to dwell on for long. But all that was done now. All that existed in the world was Peter’s perfect cock, splitting him perfectly in two, that hand knowing just what his own cock needed, that lithe body, absolute beauty in the male form personified, looming over him. Peter’s eyes burning, needing, becoming one with his. He just needed to hear him say it.

Peter's eyes met Craig's, burning through the passion and the need, a moment of clarity that he needed more than anything right now. "You want me to beg for it?" He breathed, "You wanna know how badly I need to feel you tremble? How much I wanna see your perfect body shattered below me? Oh Craig, you have no idea." He slowed his thrusts, only slightly, focusing on hitting just the right spot, applying just the right amount of pressure, "I want nothing more than to feel you come in my hand, let me feel you, Craig."

“So fucking perfect,” he voice was barely a whisper, rapidly losing his will, the fire teasing at his nervous system, threatening to explode through his body with no warning, “So close...” The decrescendo rapidly becoming a crescendo, his moans and pleas made of desire and love, joining in a harmony of perfect pleasure. The fire could be contained no more. The electric tidal wave of heat and friction exploded throughout his body, shooting out of his cock. Craig tensed and relaxed, as the fire ebbed and flowed through him. He could think of nothing in that moment, nothing but being whole again.

Peter let out a loud groan as he felt Craig come on and around him, the sensation electric. Craig's moans and sighs, the feel of his hot and sticky release coating Peter's palm, was enough to remove that precious moment of control. Before he was even aware of his own movements, Peter found himself shouting Craig's name, driving into him with force, and stilling as his own release ricocheted through his body.

Whatever strength Craig had left found its way into his arms, pulling Peter on top of him in a warm embrace, his lips seeking Peters in soft, sloppy and all-too-perfect kisses, kisses the likes of which no words could compete with, in a moment where time stood still.

Completely spent, Peter succumbed to Craig's embrace, his lips thankful for the contact, reminding him that this was indeed real, so real. He smiled to himself, breaking from Craig's lips to meet his eyes, "I'm sorry," he whispered, realising only now what his own fucking stupidity had denied him of for all these years.

“Come here,” Craig replied with a grimace, their bodies separating, he scooted up on the couch only to quickly gather Peter into his arms once again. Between gentle kisses, he said, “What exactly are you sorry for, hmm?” Too often it had been Peter who’d been there for him. After so many years, Craig could finally return the favor.

Peter leant into Craig, so thankful for his strength. That was Craig, always the strong one, despite his many failings, he was always the one to get up first and soldier on. "For not fixing this sooner. You mean the world to me, Craig, and I’d somehow convinced myself that I was okay with letting you go... I don't deserve a friend like you."

Laughing softly, Craig brushed his hands through Peter’s hair, rubbing his arm in an effort to reassure him. “Well I’m terribly sorry too Peter, but I’m exactly the friend you deserve.” Peter looked up at him, his gentle laughter joining Craig’s, as Craig continued, “Mate, I was the one who fled, not you. It wasn’t your job to reach out to me. If anyone is sorry, it’s me.”

Peter's chuckle subsides and he became serious once more, "I didn't help matters pushing you away like I did," he cups Craig's cheek and continues, "I'm done pushing. I love you. I'm gonna be here for you no matter what." Peter's eyes sparkle, love, trust, and happiness flowing freely from him.

A myriad of emotions flittered across Craig’s face at once, disbelief, followed quickly by love, acceptance, and finally, happiness. Pressing his forehead to Peter’s, tracing the outline of his jaw with a single fingertip, he replied, “I love you too Peter, but I think you knew that. I never thought of it as you pushing me away. Never feel like you have to earn back my trust. You never lost it.”

Peter smiled, touching his lips to Craig's before murmuring something about past mistakes, and how he'd vowed not to make them again. He watched as Craig's eyes fluttered shut under his movements, exhaustion finally taking its toll. He kissed him again, pulling him out of his euphoric doze, "Come on mate, let's get you to bed." Pulling him up off the couch, and helping him towards the bathroom.

There was something to be said about the intimate and gentle nature of washing another's body. It was a task Peter had become accustomed to back in Craig's days of too much booze and bad acid trips, but it had never felt like this. Craig was warm and responsive to his touch. There was no fear of an impending attack of killer ducks, no strange visions that even his imagination had a hard time believing. It was a comforting feeling, so whole, and pure, and better than any sex they had ever shared, as his hands ran through the lather on Craig's chest, and Craig sleepily dragged shampoo through his hair.

The combination of over-the-counter narcotics, jet lag, and some of the best fucking he’d ever experienced, all worked together to knock Craig out. He was only vaguely aware of Peter’s tender ministrations, as he sleepily washed his hair. All he knew is that he was happy, the hole in his heart mended.

Peter wrapped him up in a thick, complimentary bathrobe, a far cry from the threadbare, worn towels of back in the day, and directed him gently to bed. Craig was asleep before his head hit the pillow. He didn’t feel Peter’s arms wrap around him, warm and smelling of soap. He didn’t feel Peter’s gentle kiss, or promises of what the future held. Craig didn’t need it, he trusted it was there, trusted it completely.

* * *

 

The sun flooded the hotel room, as Edinburgh was greeted with its sometimes daily 5 minutes free of rain. Craig’s eyes opened to a new day, with Peter’s arms still around him, he was feeling good. He turned around in those arms, giving his old friend a kiss to greet the new morning. Peter couldn’t fool him, he wasn’t asleep, and it wasn’t long before he found himself underneath Craig, his body twisting and arching under Craig’s kisses. And so that perfect night was followed by a perfect morning, Craig making gentle love to Peter, their passion no less diminished from the night before.

Peter lay in bed, listening to the sound of the shower and some tuneless humming, reflecting on the last twenty-four hours. It was supposed to be a quick trip north, to pacify the friends and family that had been on him about his lack of time for anything that wasn't Doctor Who. He smiled, there was no way this was going to be a quick trip. He doubted he would even find the time to see those he had promised to see. Throwing the covers aside he reached for the hotel phone. First thing’s first, room service.

Craig tramped out of the shower, while Peter’s eyes glazed over watching the hotel’s info channel. He just wanted to see if there was any Fringe stuff he might find interesting. “Ya know there’s this invention called the internet, Pete,” earning Craig a quick shut up. He was about to retort, when the phone rang. It was Room Service, confirming they got the order right. Whatever they rattled off sounded good to Craig, he didn’t care. His brain was stuck on the name.

Hanging up the phone in a daze, he turned to Peter, “That was Jerry from room service.” He paused for moment before asking, “Did you ding 5 times?”

**Author's Note:**

> Please note that this story is entirely AU and I am not suggesting that any of it actually happened or will happen.  
> It probably won't happen - but it might!


End file.
